


Two mess-ups can make things right

by thedreamingowl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, Sexual Content, Shrunkyclunks, Top Bucky Barnes, mild swearing, side Brock Rumlow, side Monica Rambeau
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedreamingowl/pseuds/thedreamingowl
Summary: How Bucky Barnes, eternally grasping at straws in a poor attempt to keep his life together, met Steve Rogers, Patron Saint of fuck-ups.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was my gift for the StuckyThorki Secret Santa 2016 on tumblr!  
> Fully unbetaed, so tthere might be a few mistakes

**20 December 2016**

A lone ray of light slipped between the curtains into the otherwise dark room, hitting a sleeping figure straight in the face and Steve wiggled around in bed, trying to position himself such that he could enjoy the darkness slightly longer. To his befuddlement, his pillow was hard, smooth and cold instead of being almost too soft, like it usually was; it was almost like his linen pillow case had been replaced with metal.

Unfortunately, he felt like he was caged in position and he cursed himself for having had so much to drink the previous night. Unable to escape the light, Steve was waking up despite himself, slowly becoming more aware that he _was_ in fact caged, a warm body behind him and an arm slung around his waist.

His head was lying on metal. Metal.

Steve jerked awake, instinctively breaking free from the person who was _spooning_ him and jumped off the bed, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the piece of furniture like it could potentially harm him. It took him another second to realise he was very much naked and he quickly pulled on a pair of grey boxers lying on the ground, crossing his arms in front of himself and trying not to look as panicked as he felt.

“What the fuck?” Right on cue, a sleepy voice interrupted Steve’s thoughts,- which at this point were just a constant stream of “shit shit shit”- sounding just as miserable as Steve felt. Beyond his hangover-induced headache, Steve hated just how _sexy_ the other man sounded. He however postponed his fantasies and steeled himself as the figure in his bed slowly sat up, dark hair having escaped from its bun and framing a very good-looking – albeit currently hungover and sleep-deprived – face.

 _Cowboy up Rogers,_ Steve could hear a little voice in his head saying, and he geared himself up to fight. He opened his mouth to offer an explanation, defend himself maybe, or just tell the other man to get out, but all that came out was a squeaky “Hi”, which only earned him a glare. _Well, the only positive about this particular morning is it could not get any worse_ , the little voice offered helpfully. _The only way to go is up._

“Are you wearing my boxers right now?”

The voice was wrong. The day could get worse, and Steve would probably get murdered by Bucky Barnes in the very near future.

.

.

.

**7 September 2016**

-“SOMEBODY HELP ME! I AM BEING ATTACKED!”

Bucky cringed as the old woman in front of him started screeching loudly in the middle of the street, her seemingly frail body wracked with sobs. He knew what this looked like: a tall, muscular man towering over an elderly person in broad daylight. This was the very last thing he needed on his first day of college.

 “Lady,” Bucky started speaking in what he hoped was a soothing voice, “listen, you need to stop-”

But the woman would never find out what she was to stop as Bucky was tackled to the ground by someone _heavy_ forcefully landing on his back and twisting his right arm behind him. The impact knocked the breath out of him and he felt a knee right between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground. In front of him, a dark-skinned girl was talking soothingly to the old woman.

“Get off me,” he snarled, as the girl hailed a cab and started helping the woman in.

“Not a fucking chance pal,” a deep voice said from somewhere above him as the cab started to drive away with the old woman inside. “You had no business scaring that poor old lady.” The voice continued rambling on but Bucky had had enough.

He pressed his left palm flat to the ground, feeling the metal plates shifting around under his jacket and glove as he pushed hard on the ground in one swift move, the momentum allowing him to get his assailant off him and stand up.

Unfortunately, the cab had already driven off and was already too far for him to see the number plate.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I’m calling the cops,” the same annoying deep voice stated, much like it was rendering a great public service, and Bucky, vaguely aware of the girl from earlier getting close to him, swivelled around to face the speaker. He came face to face with someone as tall as he was, with bright blue eyes and short blond hair. He would have found the other man attractive, if not for the current situation.

“Please do,” he snarled, stepping closer to the blond man, “because that _poor old lady_ just stole my fucking wallet.”

The change in expression on the other man’s face as he went to smug and righteous to horrified was almost comical, the effect accentuated by a soft "oh shit”, presumably from the girl with him.

And that was how Bucky Barnes, eternally grasping at straws in a poor attempt to keep his life together, met Steve Rogers, Patron Saint of fuck-ups.

\--

Steve tried to do his best, really, he did. It’s just that, as his mother had always said, his heart was quick as lightning while his brain struggled to keep up. Steve liked to think she meant he was too compassionate rather than just plain stupid.

And he had proven her right again in the morning when he had assaulted – assaulted - some poor man, allowing some crook to steal his wallet. It didn’t help that the victim was objectively speaking the best-looking man he had seen in a while.  He wondered if Tall, Dark and Handsome would press charges against Monica and him for technically being accomplices in the burglary by holding him down and helping the woman escape.

“Focus, Rogers,” Monica hissed at him, and Steve forced himself to look at the professor in front of the class, who was currently explaining the course syllabus. Steve wished he could actually understand what was going on, but he was having a hard time concentrating, due to constantly berating himself. Things were not made easier by the fact that, three rows ahead of him, was seated the man from earlier in the day. He had been late for class and offered “I was at the police station” as his excuse, drawing raised eyebrows from the professor who had thankfully not commented and allowed him to take a seat.

“And now,” the professor – Dr. Banner? - announced to the class. “I will be splitting you in pairs for the research paper. Please remember,” he continued over the audible groans from the students, “that this assignment is going to count for 30% of your grades, so you’d be almost sure to pass the class should you get a good mark on this. You will be paired up in an entirely arbitrary manner and not allowed to change partners under any circumstances except for drop-outs.”

He started calling out the names and soon, people were moving to sit near their partners to start discussing the project topics. Monica was paired up with a pretty redhead called Pepper Potts and Steve heard his name being called out, followed by “James Barnes”. He raised his hand and tried to spot his project partner and- uh oh

Tall, Dark and handsome was staring at him. With his hand raised and a murderous look on his face.

.

.

**10 September 2016**

Steve doodled absent-mindedly in his open notebook, trying to subtly peruse the library as he waited for Barnes to show up. He had conveniently chosen a table near to the back so that he could keep an eye out on the comings and goings of the other students. Their conversation in class had been stilted, if he was being optimistic, hostile, if he was honest, as they had tried to choose a topic for their biology paper. Why, of all people, did he have to be paired with the one man who actually had good reason to be mad at him and could probably kill him, judging from the eternal leather jacket and gloves?

“You draw?” Steve jumped out of his seat as a voice spoke from right behind him, Barnes having somehow crept up on him.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” Steve gasped out, as his project partner dropped down on a chair next to him, jacket and gloves in place.

The other man only shrugged. “Given that you literally jumped on me and got my wallet stolen when we first met, I think we’re even.” Steve opened his mouth to apologise, but Barnes just waved a hand at him in a dismissing gesture. “I know what it looked like, I would’ve probably done the same thing.” Was he smiling? Steve was probably hallucinating. “Also, you did not answer my question: you draw?”

“Yeah, I’m an art major,” Steve nodded. “Do you draw too?”

Barnes seemed wistful for a moment, though he quickly got over it. “I used to be a tattoo artist at the Howling Commandos studio. I retired and I’m getting a degree now. Or at least trying to”

“The Howling Commandos? Why would you ever retire?” The Howling Commandos was a very exclusive studio, with waiting lists of up to two years. He would know, he’d been on said list for over a year now.

Barnes hesitated and then removed his left glove, revealing a metal hand. It was beautiful, with little plates that seemed to move seamlessly as curled the fingers into a fist. “Can’t do high precision stuff anymore,” he finally said, voice gruff.

“You have a metal hand?” Steve internally cringed at how deadpan his words came out, though maybe it was worth it as Barnes’s lips quirked up in a smile for the second time. And really, it was not fair just how beautiful he looked at that moment.

“No shit. A whole metal arm, actually.”

“Uh, we should probably get started then,” Steve stammered, telling himself to get a grip as he tried to get over his misstep. “So James, what should we do? I can call you James, right?”

“Bucky, actually.”

“Bucky?” What kind of name was that? Steve tried to keep the judgement out of his voice and failed abysmally, given the dark look Barnes –Bucky- shot him. He scrambled to correct himself. “That’s fantastic. Amazing actually, suits you really beautifully-”

“Shut up and get to work, Rogers.”

.

.

**13 October 2016**

Bucky held his coffee tightly, trying to warm up his fingers as he stepped into the chilly streets. It was already cold outside, despite it only still being October and he could almost feel the coldness creeping into his bones. He dreaded the oncoming winter.

Despite how much he had loved the season as a child, things had changed drastically nearly two years ago, when he had lost control of his motorbike on the frozen roads and crashed hard into a tree. He remembered with disturbing clarity the pain at the impact, the weight of the vehicle on his left arm, the fear at seeing the amount of blood gushing out and the eventual darkness as he lost consciousness.

“Barnes? Is that a pumpkin spice latte I see?” Bucky looked up at the sound of the familiar voice, willing the dark thoughts away as he rearranged his features into a smile.

“Of course it is, Brock. Regular coffee tastes like poison,” Bucky grinned, settling back into their usual banter and, right on cue, Brock shook his head, seemingly exasperated.

“You have such delicate taste buds,” he responded, right as he moved in to hug Bucky. “It’s good to see you, man. How’s the arm?”

“Good to see you too,” Bucky said honestly as they broke apart. “Arm’s good, functional. Almost as good as the first one,” he joked. Brock had been a high school classmate of his, and had gotten Bucky in touch with his boss, Tony Stark, who had designed the metal arm. Without Brock, he would have probably never gotten the high end prosthetic.

“So, I heard you were back in school. How’s that working for you?”

“Pretty good so far,” Bucky responded. “In fact,” he added regretfully as he sneaked a look at his watch, “I have to meet someone for a project right now.”

“Don’t let me hold you back from your intellectual endeavours,” Brock replied in an exaggerated pompous manner, as Bucky rolled his eyes. “Go forth, young grasshopper,” he added, already walking away. “Go find your destiny.”

Bucky couldn’t resist the loud “Nerd!” he shouted at the retreating figure.

He however couldn’t help thinking about Steve Rogers as he walked to Steve’s little apartment, where he was supposed to meet him. They had surprisingly grown to be fast friends with the previous month. The man was an enigma, and the more Bucky learned about him, more he wanted to learn about him. Bucky had recently found that Steve was 22, only a couple of years younger than him, having taken a few years off in high school due to his poor health and then to look after his sick mother, who had passed away of leukaemia the previous year. He was also passionate about art, for which he had a real talent.

In fact, whenever both of them were in the college art studio, where Bucky had taken to hanging out to do homework while Steve painted, it was common for the light-haired man to be lost to the world for hours at a time, painting frenetically and unresponsive to his surroundings. Seeing him at work evoked a bittersweet feeling in Bucky. On one hand, being a spectator to the art-making process felt like a rare treat to be savoured, while on the other, it reminded him of all he had lost and could no longer do.

Sure, the metal arm was particularly dexterous for a prosthetic, but he didn’t think he could ever trust himself to use it to hold an ink machine to tattoo someone. Art on paper was an alternative, but it didn’t hold quite the same appeal to him as having someone place their trust in him to create a masterpiece using their skin as a canvas. Brushes didn’t quite compare to the thought of someone walking around with an original Bucky Barnes tattoo on their body, living with it every second of every day for the rest of their lives.

Steve was a great guy, but, by no fault of his, being attracted to him could only hurt Bucky in the long run.

\--

“You got your wallet back!” Steve beamed, as Bucky pulled said object out of his jacket pocket with a flourish before tossing the article of clothing over the back of the living room couch. His apartment, though modest, was spotless, having been given a thorough cleaning before Bucky showed up- it was the first time they’d be working at his place and he didn’t want to seem to be as much of a slob as he actually was. In fact, his arm was hurting from the hard work he’s put in.

“No shit.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he started pulling off his gloves. “The old hag tried to rob a cop and got arrested. They searched her apartment and found a bunch of stolen stuff in there. Cash’s all gone, but my cards are still here, so that’s cool.”

“Good, I feel less guilty now,” Steve said, knowing Bucky was over their little feud, but also needing to fill up the silence- he felt awed every time the other man trusted him enough to let him see the metal arm, not thinking twice about it even though he never took off his jacket in public, giving everyone the impression he was in a biker gang rather than an amputee.

He earned himself a “Shove it, Rogers,” but it was more playful than anything.

“Hey, Bucky? Do you want to grab something to eat after this?”

“Sure, we can get some more work done,” Bucky replied in an unaffected tone.

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I meant.”

 

.

.

**20 November 2016**

Steve felt all the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh as he was flipped over on his back, landing hard on the training mat. He was for a moment reminded of the breathless feeling of his childhood asthma, which he thankfully no longer suffered from, and was briefly panicked.

“Time out,” he coughed out, earning himself a snigger from Monica who was standing a few feet from him, being the one who had flipped him to the ground in the first place. Despite being tall and muscular now, he had been sickly growing up and only started Mixed Martial Arts after high school, such that, while he could win over her with brute strength, his techniques were still lacking as compared to her fighting skills, since she’d been practicing the discipline since childhood. Seeing her fight was like watching a well-choreographed and graceful dance, and Steve was still struggling against a bad case of two left feet.

“How’s the bio project going?” she asked, bringing a towel to her short dark hair to wipe the sweat away, as Steve struggled to get back to his feet.

“Nearly done,” Steve gasped, struggling to get to his feet. “How’re you doing?”

“Amazing! Pepper is an actual genius and pretty great to work with. Are you and Barnes getting along?”

“It’s both amazing and pretty awful, to be honest.” Steve admitted. “I like him but I keep messing up around him. Remember how I told you Bucky used to be a tattoo artist? Well, the other day, I asked him how come he didn’t have a single tattoo and it turns out he used to have a full sleeve tattoo, _on his left arm_ and that this tattoo served as an inspiration for the current prosthetic arm. I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole because I just keep putting my foot in my mouth around him and I like him a lot and he looks so sad when he talks about art and I just want to ask him out and-”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I was just asking to be polite. I actually have no interest in your love life.”

\--

“Hey, Bucky?”

Steve sounded hesitant and Bucky looked up from his notebook, in which he was doodling absent-mindedly to look at him, finding that the other man had turned to look at him, abandoning the painting he was working on. The blond man had never seemed unsure of himself; he could be awkward but was always confident, and that was one of the things that had attracted Bucky to him in the first place.

“You said that the latest update to your arm allowed you to feel pressure, right?” Bucky nodded in reply, confused as to where Steve was going with this and Steve continued talking. “Doesn’t this mean that you will have better control over the arm? Maybe you could get back to tattooing someday.”

A flash of anger ran through Bucky. How dare Steve tell him what to do? After he had confided in him, on top of everything. Hoping to get back to his old job was futile and building sand castles with his dreams would only give the waves of reality something to destroy.

“I won’t,” he replied, even angrier when he realised how hoarse his voice sounded. He forced himself to remember that this whole situation was not Steve’s fault, he was only trying to help. “I can’t run the risk of the arm malfunctioning and accidentally impaling someone with a needle.”

“Start small, maybe,” Steve pushed, apparently unwilling to give up. “Just minimalist tattoos. You said you used to do geometric tattoos, right? A simple pattern on the arm, or something. In fact, you could tattoo me if you want.”

“Stop.” Bucky bit out the word and it came out harsher than anticipated. “I can’t afford to take that risk. It would be selfish and dangerous and I could kill someone, just because I can’t let go of the past. So stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Rogers.”

.

.

**12 December 2016**

It was with a sense of finality that Steve dropped the folder containing the biology assignment on Dr Banner’s desk after the last class of the semester. He wondered whether Bucky would even talk to him now that they had no reason to hang out anymore, the conversation between them stilted ever since Steve had brought up tattooing the previous month. The other man’s absence had left a gaping hole in Steve’s life, which was surprising, given the short time they had known each other and the thought of no longer talking to him made him feel like his everyday was stripped of life.

“Bucky!” he called out, spotting the other man leaving the class. To his relief, he stopped and waited for Steve to jog up to him. “I meant to ask you- do you have any plans for Christmas? My, uh, friend Sam is throwing this party on the 24th and, uh, I thought maybe, uh, you could come with me.”

Steve waited with bated breath as Bucky stared at him for a few seconds, an unreadable expression on his face. Steve wished he could tell what he was thinking as the moment seemed to stretch to infinity.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said finally, “but I don’t think we should talk anymore.”

Steve could feel his heart breaking with an ache that seemed to spread all over his chest, but he only nodded as Bucky walked away. He was honestly not surprised, but that did not mean it hurt any less.

.

.

**19 December 2016**

Bucky made his way through the crowd of barely-adults on the dance floor, regretting his decision of showing up to the End of Year party of the university more and more with every drunk girl trying to rub up against him. He should have known that a party at a night club could only be bad news, but he needed to unwind after finals week. He also needed to forget about the puppy eyes Steve would throw him every time they crossed paths.

So far, he had managed to do both quite well, if only because he was too busy prying people off of him and because he was barely coherent, with how drunk he was.

He was almost at the exit door and out of the over-heated, smelly room when he felt someone throwing an arm over his shoulder. He rolled his eyes and was about to push the person off him when he realised that it was Steve. A very, very drunk Steve.

“Buck, Bucky,” he slurred, a dopey grin on his face. “Come dance with me.”

At this point, Bucky was pretty drunk himself, but still rational enough to know that this was a bad idea.

“No, I’m leaving,” he managed to say, breaking free of Steve’s hold and heading as straight as he could outside, not sparing a second look at Steve, lest he should break his resolve.

Once outside, he took in a deep breath, giving himself a couple of minutes to collect himself before trying to hail a cab.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” A voice said suddenly, and Bucky turned around to see that Steve had followed him outside, lower lip wobbling like a five year-old about to throw a tantrum.

“Shit,” muttered Bucky. “Stevie- Steve let’s get you home,” he added grabbing onto Steve’s left arm with his right hand.

“You called me Stevie!” Steve announced joyfully, no longer seeming close to tears and just smiling as a cab finally stopped and both men got in. “You’ve never called me Stevie before.”

The ten-minute drive to Steve’s apartment was quiet, and it was only after they got out and Bucky moved to pay that he realised he’d kept his grip on Steve’s arm throughout the drive. He had to relinquish his hold but brought his hand to Steve’s elbow to guide him home as they both stumbled up the stairs to the second floor of the building, where Steve lived. Judging himself to be the more sober of the pair, though not by much- his last shots were catching up to him, Bucky grabbed the key from Steve and let them in.  He noted that the place was a lot messier than the other times he’d dropped by, confirming his suspicions that Steve had in fact cleaned because of him. The thought made him feel warm inside, though he managed to not blurt anything out.

Bucky was about to leave when this time, Steve grabbed on to his arm.

“You’re a coward,” Steve hissed before letting go of him.

“What the fuck do you mean?” Bucky asked, taken aback at his current mood change, though whatever good judgement he had left was letting him to leave _now_.

“You think I don’t know why you’re not talking to me? Or why you won’t even try to get back to your old job? You’re scared, Bucky and it’s honestly pathetic,” Steve bit out.

“Don’t pretend to know what I feel.” It look every ounce of self-control for Bucky to not start screaming. He did not want this conversation, not when he knew Steve was right.

“It’s okay to be scared! Everyone is scared of something!” In front of him, Steve seemed to be facing a similar internal struggle. “You can’t stop living just out of fear, Bucky. You’re a fighter and I just want to see what you look like when you’re happy because I’ve never seen what happy you looks like and it’s not fair! I like you so much, Bucky, just- just take a chance,” he said finally, inching closer to Bucky.

Bucky felt rooted to the spot as he looked at Steve’s earnest face and pleading eyes, feeling the fight leaving his body- maybe Steve was right and he just needed to give in to what he wanted, to try to live again, not just survive. Bucky’s fogged perception made a decision sober him would almost certainly regret as he brought his right hand up to Steve’s short hair just as Steve leaned and closed the distance between them, their lips meeting halfway.

There was no finesse whatsoever, no gentleness Bucky had been hoping to get from their first kiss, just lips pressed hard together, moving frenetically, hands tugging at hair and desperation in every move and it was _perfect_. Bucky allowed himself to stop thinking, to just focus on the soft lips beneath his, on the faint stubble rubbing against his cheeks, on the taste of something sweeter underneath all the alcohol, on how very firm and real Steve felt underneath his hands, on the way Steve was responding to him with equal, if not more, enthusiasm.

Bucky was barely aware that they were moving, stumbling their way through the cluttered apartment and only vaguely noticed his surroundings when they reached Steve’s bedroom. Eager hands were peeling off clothing and, lips leaving each other for only enough time for shirts to be pulled over heads and pants and underwear to be pushed away. Soon they were landing on Steve’s bed, separating briefly to push a humongous pile of clothing to the floor and before they continued making out.

Steve’s lips were now sucking insistently at Bucky’s neck, leaving dark splotches on the tender skin before moving to the tender area on Bucky’s shoulder where the metal arm met his body. Bucky moaned softly, fingers clenching in the other man’s hair as Steve’s lips pressed to the sensitive area; he would normally feel self-conscious, but this was _Steve_.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly as Steve started kissing his way slowly down his chest.

“I don’t know how much my word is worth given how drunk I am,” Steve looked up at him, lips quirking in a half-smile. “But I’ve never been surer of anything.”

Bucky pulled him up for another kiss, even as Steve rummaged clumsily in his bedside drawer for lube and condoms. The blond man straddled him, slick fingers reaching behind to prep himself up quickly with little gasps as his abs clenched every time his fingers slid in and it was the single hottest thing Bucky had seen in his entire life. Worried that Steve might not be stretching himself enough in his hurry, he grabbed the abandoned bottle of lube and slicked up two of his own fingers, fingering Steve in a completely opposite rhythm. He was tight and warm and jerking randomly due to the opposing motions, his moans getting louder by the minute and Bucky couldn’t wait to fuck him.

Both men reached for the condom at the same time, two sets of hands hurriedly tearing the packet open and rolling it down Bucky’s dick and soon Steve was lowering himself in one long, tantalisingly slow motion.

Bucky’s hands flew to grab his hips, restraining himself as much as he could so as to not injure the other man with the metal one, as Steve started moving, slowly and then more and more quickly as they both lost themselves to the moment.

They were probably going to regret this in the morning, but in that moment, everything felt just right.

.

.

**20 December 2016**

“Are you wearing my boxers right now?” Bucky tried to hide his mounting panic behind sass, even as Steve’s eyes grew comically big and he looked down at said article of clothing.

“I, uh, I’m sorry?” Steve seemed to be shrinking with embarrassment and Bucky felt bad, even with his pounding headache, as the previous night’s events rushed back to him, though he had to admit that Steve was looking downright adorable at the moment. He briefly considered flinging himself out the nearest window and running away, but decided against it as the word “coward” echoed in his head.

In front of him, Steve was fidgeting restlessly, looking everywhere except for Bucky and the latter knew he had a choice to make.

Steeling himself, just in case Steve had changed his mind, he let his head drop back to the pillow and asked with a fake nonchalance “When is your friend Sam’s Christmas party, again?”

It took several seconds where Steve for Steve to process his words and Bucky almost decided that jumping out window couldn’t be that bad, but then Steve was smiling widely, looking almost giddy.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Very much so.” Bucky replied easily, trying to hide his relief. “Now come back to bed before I change my mind- it’s too early for heart-to-hearts.” He burst out laughing as Steve tried to sprint back to the bed, slipping over some of the clothes on the floor and landing face first on the mattress with an undignified squeak.

They had a lot to talk about and fix, but that would come in due time. They were going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not in any way endorsing excessive alcohol consumption, so drink moderately, people!


End file.
